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Uncle Waldo, terror of the UPS man, finishes off my knee

I came home from work the other day and saw a cardboard box tossed in a pile of leaves on the driveway. That’s odd, I thought. I am expecting a box from Amazon, but they always bring it up and leave it on the covered front porch.

I walked over to look at it, and sure enough, it was my Amazon package lying in the damp leaves. “What the hell,” I fumed to myself. “Why on earth did that UPS man just toss my package here?”

Oh wait, that’s right. I had forgotten about Uncle Waldo…

the Guard Gander.

The formerly peaceful and good-natured goose now patrols the property, keeping a sharp eye on all movement while his mate Abigail placidly roots around for spring growth in the weeds. And anything that doesn’t look quite right to him is investigated and summarily attacked, with much hissing and snapping of serrated beak.

Including hapless UPS men who are just trying to walk up to the porch with an Amazon package.

I laughed silently to myself, imagining the poor deliveryman’s frightened retreat, tossing the box over his shoulder as he ran for his truck with Uncle Waldo hissing and biting his legs.

I have been bitten by Waldo many times recently, and it doesn’t really hurt much. It just feels like a hard pinch. But it is incredibly intimidating when he comes at you with his head lowered, hissing.

And just yesterday evening when I went out to put away the flocks, foolishly carrying a red bag of meal worms (the color red tends to trigger aggression in poultry), he charged me, undeterred by the stick in my hand and the feed bucket I was trying to defend myself with, and knocked me flat, proceeding to bite me any place he could land a blow.

People, I was freaked out. In my scrambling to get away, I felt that familiar sharp searing pain in my injured knee and knew that it was my meniscus ripping even further.

Good thing I’m having surgery next week, I guess.

But Uncle Waldo has really become a problem. He never attacks Phil; this is because Phil has used the same method of dealing with pets or livestock who challenge him for 25 years. He does what he calls “playing baby,” which entails scooping up the rebellious animal and snuggling it up tight against himself with his arms wrapped around it and carrying it around like a baby, crooning to it softly. Uncle Waldo never attempts to attack him during these baby sessions but looks highly offended.

But everyone else feels Waldo’s wrath.

We keep him because we would like goslings. Goose is wonderfully fatty meat, perfect for rendering fat to cook with. But here’s the thing: Uncle Waldo is apparently a fighter, not a lover. As in: he guards Abigail but he does not breed Abigail.

Which means that he is a very handsome bird, but he is essentially a useless pain in the ass.

And, having been goosed by this goose more than once, I do not mean “pain in the ass” metaphorically.

Years ago, I watched something on 60 Minutes about how rhinos were coming to sad ends in Africa. It wasn’t poachers. It turned out that over a decade before the gamekeepers replenished the elephants. They didn’t have vehicles large enough to transport grown up elephants, so they brought in ones that were barely weaned. Elephants are very social and the boys hadn’t been fully trained behaviorally. So, they picked fights with the rhinos. The gamekeepers solved the issue by bringing fully mature elephants to complete the training of the juvenile delinquents. All is well now.
If this doesn’t work. I think Abigail is going to be a heartbroken widow.

It may not apply in this case, but there is a legend from Rome’s ancient past, before the time of the Republic. An invader somehow managed to get past the dogs but the geese sounded the alarm. Since then, Romans held dogs in contempt and treated geese as sacred. Uncle Waldo may be a little confused as to how to go about guarding his territory.
A question. If he comes to a sad end, will Abigail be able to find a new mate? I would hate to see be a spinster for the rest of her life.

I am reminded about the joke about the old rooster whose owner had bought a new one, and he knew his time for the cooking pot was coming. Thinking quickly, he challenged the new rooster to a race–five laps around the henhouse, but giving the old rooster a head start. The old rooster told the new rooster that winning this race would win the hearts of the hens so he could do his job.

So they started, and after a couple of laps, BLAM BLAM and the new rooster was lying dead. The farmer, smoking shotgun still in his hands, muttered “that’ll be the last time Smith sells me a gay rooster!”

It has been a while since you posted. In the absence of an update, i am going to presume that Uncle Waldo has been granted a reprieve.
A couple of days ago, I saw a documentary on medieval warfare. Prior to his campaign that ended at Agincourt, Henry V commissioned the making of one hundred thousand arrows which were stored at the Tower of London. Guess what they were fletched with? Something Uncle Waldo doesn’t want to give up. It was thirty years before people in London saw geese again regularly. Maybe threatening Uncle Waldo with arrow making might get him to back off?
“Henry V!” “Fletch arrows!” If that doesn’t work, you could try it in French. If it doesn’t work, Uncle Waldo is a bird brain.